


The Price of Listening

by doodlebug_nimbus



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Female Cloud Strife, Headcanon, Mental Anguish, Mental Disintegration, One Shot, sorry y'all i love writing fucked up takes on these characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24313003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlebug_nimbus/pseuds/doodlebug_nimbus
Summary: They say that the planet’s voices can drive one mad.Inevitably, that means Aerith will suffer the same fate that befell all her ancestors.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough & Cloud Strife, Aerith Gainsborough/Tifa Lockhart, Tifa Lockhart & Cloud Strife
Kudos: 27





	The Price of Listening

**Author's Note:**

> when i say i love writing fucked up takes on these characters i mean it. it's what i do to any character i like...  
> which means tifa and cloud are next >:)  
> so i'll link em all together into a loosely-connected series of one shots (with a crap title)
> 
> enjoy

Its most dangerous attribute was how slowly it devoured someone.

It would be too kind to be one, painful instance, of course. All the worst things in the world were like that.

She should’ve paid more attention when she still could. She should’ve given her more care, given her more assistance, given her more of anything than what she really offered her.

But that was how everything hurt. When what was lost could never be truly recovered, and when the tides of remorse washed over the mind. One only started caring when they couldn’t have something back—selfish, perhaps. Not giving what’s cherished one’s undivided affection, until that affection cannot be received proper.

Technically Aerith was still with them, as Cloud often said whenever she stopped by to check on them. Her face was blank, like it normally was, but something unreadable glinted in her inhumanly bright eyes—Tifa guessed it was the rare flicker of pain, considering how little Cloud liked to divulge her feelings. It was how she knew that Cloud didn’t really believe what she was saying.

It was a truthful lie—her body was with them, yes, though her mind, her personality, her identity—was wiped from reality. The best that could be said for Aerith now was that she had the brain of an infant.

Even that estimate was generous, however.

Whenever the team ran off in their pursuits to stop Sephiroth, Tifa lingered behind in the inns they abandoned to stay with Aerith. The latter would make nonsense noises into the void that surrounded them, possibly twitch her arms or legs, and loll her head as Tifa tried to talk to her like she was still capable of processing language.

She always jerked forward when Tifa inevitably broke down into tears, as if she wanted to reach over and wipe away the pain, giving her false hope. Giving her the impossibility of her ever coming back to her.

It would’ve been better if she just withered away into nothing. It would make it easier for her to pretend that what she lost was something to overcome, something that could be healed with time. Her mindless self was a cruel visage she was forced to witness everyday, burning that hole in her heart bigger _each_ day.

Tifa wasn’t sure if she was developing her own form of madness (and while Cloud was always a bit off, that strangeness seemed to worsen once they lost Aerith), although she insisted that sometimes, just sometimes, Aerith gained back a little bit of her sentience—how else could she explain that slide of her eyes right when Tifa told her she was going to leave? Surely that meant something.

Surely.

It had already started after they left Midgar. No one really noticed it back then.

Besides Tifa.

She could see it in her movements, how stilted they were, how much she resembled an automaton in human skin. She could see it in her eyes, that distant, glossy look typically seen in traumatized soldiers.

She could hear it in her voice. Fear lurked behind every word—no, it was more than fear. Dread, the one associated with the knowledge of inescapable death.

Aerith blew her off before she raised her concerns. Her annoyance didn’t read as legitimate. Half-hearted—her mind was somewhere else.

The planet was preoccupying her headspace, as Tifa eventually learned.

In Junon, the two of them lagged a little as the others pushed forward, since she wanted to know what was going on with her. Under the shadows of one of the local’s homes, Tifa faced her and chose to be blunt.

“What is wrong with you?” she said. Aerith appeared to be a little disoriented from her even bothering to ask. “Just tell me. We both know something’s off.”

She offered only a dubious expression before looking away, deep in thought. When she faced her again, hopelessness dripped from her words. “Don’t you remember what he said about them? What he said about me?”

“Hojo?” They both understood. Tifa forced herself back into the headquarters, where they found her and him staring each other down. He hadn’t heard them intrude, so they caught the last segment of his conversation.

_“...I suggest you make a decision soon. That mind you cherish so much won’t be nice for very long, you know. Remember what happened to your mother? I am sure you’re convinced our experiments killed her, but the reality is that her brain rotted too much for her to continue existing. Why, she couldn’t form coherent sentences by the time she escaped! Rather curious how she got out at all—but no matter. That mental decline is a known trait that all Cetra inherit, explicitly due to the nature of the planet’s communication. While I am not entirely sure how it works, it seems as though the brain cannot properly process the continuous sensory overloads the planet places upon an individual, eventually resulting in misshapen gyri and sulci, the loss of specialized brain cells, the improper reorganization of nerve signaling passageways…Ah, enough with the details. I’m sure you understand the point I’m trying to make._

_Either way, your connection to the planet is what will destroy you. But before that happens, we’d like to…”_

“He…he said you’d go insane because of you being a Cetra? I think?” The mood shift in her face told her everything. She was now staring at the ground. “Uh—that’s not—that isn’t true, is it? He was just trying to scare you, right?” She shouldn’t have asked at all, the answer was already there. Maybe she was asking her in the hopes of making the truth a lie.

“I think…it’s already happening.” She fiddled with the frayed edges of her dress, readjusting her weight from leg to leg. “It’s hard to concentrate at all. The voices, the planet’s voices, they’re getting unbearable…Sometimes I’ll forget what I’m doing. Sometimes I can’t move at all…It’s impossible to sleep. Tifa, I don’t…I don’t know how much longer I have before I’m completely braindead. I’m scared.”

By the time she finished speaking, her words had disintegrated into a couple of whimpers as her eyes glistened. Alarmed, Tifa came to her side, and without hesitation, Aerith latched onto her and started crying.

Without a clue as to what she could say, she just embraced her back, her comfort a futile act of rebellion against cruel fate.

“So…what are we going to do about her?”

“Her?”

“You know who I mean, Tifa. I know it’s difficult to believe, but she’s…there’s something wrong with her. She’s getting worse every day. Yesterday it took me an hour to get her to recognize me. When we woke up this morning, I found her in a pool of her own vomit. She didn’t know where she was, who I was, once again, and she seemed to struggle with who she _was_.” Cloud didn’t look up at Tifa for a while. The guest room bed creaking under her weight implied she was slouching. “That’s why I asked you to stay behind with her. She can’t fight—she can’t even travel with us anymore. I…was debating on whether or not you should just stay with her until she…” Her frown deepened, and she shook her head. A sniff escaped her.

Tifa let out a horrible laugh, one that burned with despair and willful ignorance. “I don’t want to believe it. I refuse to. Everything has to be taken away from me, it seems. Can’t have anything in this world…” She laughed again, condensing her figure on her bed. When she resumed speaking, she sat up, leaning forward. “You want me to stay with her?”

“Well, yeah. I don’t think she can be alone. She might accidentally kill herself…”

“...Alright. Are we going to take her to the next town or—?”

“You should stay in this inn. Kalm isn’t too untrustworthy, I feel.” Cloud rose to her feet, facing the door. “And I’ll…come back every now and then, explain to the others what’s going on…Just keep her company. I think she’ll appreciate her last moments with you more than anyone else.”

In the few final instances of her lucidity, Aerith kept telling her one thing: “Kill me.”

Every time, Tifa did not relent. She didn’t have it in her to take her out. She didn’t have it in her to destroy the only person she loved. Their time was so short—bittersweet—but their emotions were just as visceral as the most star crossed lovers’. To kill her…Was that really less wrong than allowing her to exist?

Everything was slipping from her. Her mother, her father, her hometown, so many of those in Midgar, the Cloud she knew, the wellbeing of the planet itself…and now Aerith. She was too weak to fight against her life, too useless, too pathetic. She accepted everything, and for what? Just so she could lose even more? So she could suffer more?

“I won’t hate you for killing me.”

She didn’t realize she was crying over Aerith’s wasting body until she felt a soft, warm hand gracing her cheek. Looking down, she was smiling at her.

“Don’t look so sad, Tifa…” With every word came labored breath. Her skin was so unnaturally pale, translucent even, with strands of hair clinging to her clammy face, and her green eyes were diluted as if she was going blind. A living corpse. But the smile was everything for her—it was Aerith’s last ounce of happiness. She was crying harder, unable to stop herself, while Aerith just held onto her tighter. “I promise…I’ll be back someday. I’ll…make sure of that, you hear?”

Those would be her last words.

A while after she was reduced to a vegetable, Tifa contemplated what she had said to her.

_“I won’t hate you for killing me.”_

Maybe it was cruel to keep her around like this—especially if there wasn’t any hope of her coming back fully formed—not in this state, at least. Maybe in a twist of fate the Lifestream would help her out after she did the deed. After all, she did tell of how her mother still reached out to her from time to time, from the beyond…And she always did say that the Ancients worked in mysterious ways…

Tifa asked Cloud to come with her sword the next time she came over.

She needed it for her act of mercy.


End file.
